


Trade Mistakes

by dandelion_weed



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Teen Wolf (TV), The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alive!Luke, Demigod!Stiles, Ganymede's a dick, Gen, Implied Mpreg, Lukercy all the way, M/M, Spark!Stiles, because it totally happens during HOO, but not really more like magic baby appearing out of thin air?, but they're kinda cool, kind of, the gods are jerks, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelion_weed/pseuds/dandelion_weed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles likes to think despite being a Spark, he's a pretty ordinary person in a pack of werewolves. Then, a demigod comes to Beacon Hills. Things didn't change much, but it sure is different. Luke is fun to have around, even though he's a guy who comes back from the dead and pathetically pines for the son of Poseidon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shitty Teen Wolf timelines because I honestly watched only four episodes. Also, I finally know how to Italic thank God.

When all of this is over, Stiles will kill Derek. Slowly. Painfully. See if he doesn’t.

For the third time that week, Stiles is thrown to the ground. There is a crack from where he landed. Youch. This is all Derek’s fault. Stiles knows it from the bottom of his virgin heart. When in doubt, blame Derek Hale.

The unidentified monster grunts then makes a move towards the main road,  _again_. Stiles wants to make a rude remark at that, because, hey,  _rude_. As if Stiles Stilinski, Spark Extraordinaire of Beacon Hills is not worth another good smacking. Which is dumb, so Stiles picks himself up and grimaces at the pain. Deaton will find himself a new nuisance tonight.

“Hey, ugly!” The monster turns. Huh. So English  _is_  in their vocabulary. Good to know. The grasshopper-snake hybrid the other day spent the entire fight making strange high-pitched noises at Stiles, which he laughed at before vanishing the thing into the oblivion. He hadn’t thought the incident was worth reporting during pack meetings. Now he knows there is something unnatural (huh!) about the whole thing. Because, dude, an eight feet gooey thing doesn’t just appear out of nowhere for fresh air. Not in Beacon Hill anyway. This place reeks of werewolves and hunters. Is that a thing among monsters?

The gooey slimy thing moves towards Stiles, its teeth grinding against each other, probably waiting for something Stiles-sized to squeeze in-between. Eugh. Bad mental image. Stiles knows he cracked a rib, sprained his wrist, and a few scratches here and there. Nothing that won’t heal in a few days, so he freezes on his spot, hearing the tell-tale of his furry friends’ arrival before three wolves pounce from the bushes.

Stiles has the best pack  _ever_. Except their timing is shit.

It’s Erica, Isaac and Scott in their beta form, snarling at the thing with their fangs and claws out and eugh, Stiles’s heart may have just melted a little. Give him a minute. This whole protective pack thing they have going on is just too much for his heart.

“Aim for the eyes,” he says out loud. Scott, bless his little wolfy heart, snarls louder, as if Stiles’s injuries are a great offense to the universe.

It is over in two minutes flat. Stiles needs better time management for next time. As the thing vanishes in front of their eyes in a magical swirl of golden dust, Stiles keens pathetically before his knees give out. He does not meet the ground. Two strong hands capture him on the arms and a solid chest is pressed to his back. Stiles knows without a doubt who it is. And there’s Boyd, looking at Erica for signs of injury and there may be a little sniffing on Stiles too, but he is willing to let that go because his rib hurts like fuck.

A second later, his vision is full of his best friend’s concerned face. “Stiles, are you okay?”

“I’m great, never been better.” Sarcasm, old friend, meet Stiles. “I was caught unprepared, by the way. And I haven’t recovered fully from the other day. Any chance someone can drive me to Deaton’s? Because I feel like—“

“What other day?” Scott says sharply. It’s time like this he chooses to be smart, not when Stiles has nothing to hide. Not that he’s hiding something.

Stiles grunts and he has the strange tingling at the back of his head that Boyd will pick him up bridal style if he doesn’t get his shit together soon. He pulls away from Boyd, who hovers at the back in case Stiles has another swooning episode and that is just not funny, seriously. Jackson is probably laughing.

“Look, let’s get in the jeep first. I’ll tell you on the way. Isaac, stop gaping. The thing is gone and for god’s sake don’t try to sniff it out.”

He gives a short version of the three encounters he has had for the past week. The first one was right on his lawn, which was funny as hell until the tiny sprout screamed shrilly at him and threw him back with magical invisible force. Stiles then engaged a short argument with the leafy fellow with anger issues before picking him up and yeah, it was a mistake Stiles is not willing to admit, because the thing turned into golden dust. In Stiles’s defense, he did not know the tiny guy  _was_  a plant. Sue him. The leaves should have probably clued him in, though. But let bygones be bygones.

The second encounter happened two days ago, when he was on his way home from school. It was a strange hybrid of grasshopper body and snake head, which was creepy as fuck. But when it opened its mouth, Stiles spent a minute laughing in his jeep before the thing was by his side in an instant and Stiles was pulled through the jeep’s window. The monster shook Stiles, as if trying to knock some sense into him on some weird maternal instinct and then it opened its mouth and holy moon Stiles will never laugh at another serpent again if he survived. Stiles kicked a spot somewhere and the hybrid screamed in pain, throwing Stiles to the ground and clutching its probable ankle. Stiles did not waste another second before vanishing it somewhere in the cosmos.

He was on his way to the regular pack meeting when the gooey slimy thing appeared on the roadside and almost caused Stiles a car accident.

“We need to talk about what you call a chance meeting and an incoming invasion,” Scott growls.

Stiles shrugs and leans back. Boyd is driving, Erica in the shotgun and he is sandwiched between Isaac and Scott. The whole drive is spent with Scott and Isaac alternatively taking his pain away. When they got to Deaton’s clinic, the vet is outside as if waiting for them. He takes one look at Stiles before sighing and signals for Stiles to be taken in.

“I had hoped it won’t happen,” he says as he wraps bandages around Stiles’s injured wrist. Stiles hisses. “I had my suspicion about you, Stiles. It seems like I was right.”

“What are you talking about?” Erica asks.

Deaton shakes his head while applying ointment to the wound on Stiles’s palm. Stiles watches with disbelief as the wound stops throbbing. He turns his wide eyes to his grim mentor. “Did that just happen?”

Deaton puts away the ointment’s container and grabs a flask of golden liquid. “Drink,” he says to Stiles, who dumbly opens his mouth and lets Deaton tips the flask.

It tastes like his mom’s waffle. The one she made when Stiles got a good grade and when he’s down. There’s faint taste of orange too. She always mixed the juice to the dough. Stiles is hit with strong sense of nostalgia. His throat feels tight, but he drinks it until the flask is empty.

The effect is instantaneous. Stiles leans back and feels the pain is slowly washed away by whatever Deaton fed him. Why did Deaton never tell them he has all these miraculous healing stuffs?

“Stiles?” Scott said warily. Stiles tentatively sat up. His chest is not hurting anymore, not so much anyway. He carefully peels away the bandage on his wrist. He watches with some sort of sick fascination as he moves his hand. His eyes meet Erica’s. The blonde looks part ecstatic and part confused. Which is exactly what Stiles is feeling right now.  _What. The. Hell?_

“Okay, start explaining. Now.” He probably doesn’t look the least bit intimidating, but he’s confused and kind of scared and Deaton will start talking right at this moment or keep his peace forever.

“If you were a mortal, the ambrosia and nectar would have burned you from the inside. Your blood to fire and bones to sand.” Deaton gives him a meaningful look at the end, and yeah, that isn’t cryptic  _at all_.

“Mortal,” Boyd says flatly.

“Are you saying Stiles isn’t mortal?” Isaac looks at Stiles like the puppy he is. “Like,  _immortal_?”

“Oh my God  _Stiles_ ,” Scott says exasperatedly, and  _excuse you Scott_ , Stiles takes great offense to that. It’s not like he asks for these things to happen to him. But hey, immortality? He can totally roll with that. Plus those magical healing stuffs? Sign him up.

“Not immortal,” Deaton says and Stiles is ready to tear his hair out if he doesn’t get to the point right about now. “He has the blood of an immortal in him. His mother is an immortal.”

Stiles stills. “My mom died when I was eleven.”

“She has a very good reason to make you believe that.” And the look Deaton gives him is that of pity and Stiles suddenly can’t breathe. He must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing he knows Erica and Scott hover over him, faces worried.

Stiles feels pathetic, sad, but mostly relief. And also hopeful and betrayed. His mom is alive? Then—

“I watched her being buried.”

Deaton shakes his head. “Your mother is capable of many things. She is one of those forces that keep our civilization alive. Stiles, your mother is a goddess.”

As if his best friend being a werewolf and him being a magic conductor aren’t enough.

* * *

 

Stiles stormed out after that. Erica and Scott were barely out of the door before Stiles hits the main road and drives away like a madman. He’s sure he’s breaking so many traffic laws while he’s at it, but he needs  _out_. He does not have a place in mind, so he drives and only stops when he realizes he’s halfway to the remains of the old Hale house. He pulls back and drives to his house.

When his father comes home that night, Stiles is already in bed, facing away the door so his father will not ask questions. Stiles wants to ask him, _did you know_? But he remembers how devastated his father was after his mother’s supposed death, so he pretends to be asleep. His father does not deserve more heartache along with all the lies Stiles has told him. Knowing his wife has also lied to him will be just twisting the knife deeper into his chest.

The next morning, Stiles drives to Deaton.

“Tell me,” he says to the vet.

Deaton nods and sits him down.

“I don’t know what exactly you want me to tell you,” he starts, puttering around with jars that Stiles knows contains the worst of wolfsbane. “But let’s start with something simple. Gods. Plural.”

Stiles stares.

“This is may be actually my fault too,” Deaton says. “If I hadn’t erected the monster repellent wards, you would have been sent to the camp, where you learn all these things about our parentage at an early age. If we survive that long.”

“Our parentage,” Stiles intones.

Deaton gives him a look that look close to mischief, God help them all. Then he turns back to his jars of poisons. “My father is a god, Stiles. If you want to be technical about it, we are probably first cousins. Your mother and my father are probably half-siblings.”

 _Okay_ , Stiles thinks numbly.  _I am related to Deaton. He’s my first cousin. Our parents are siblings. Okay._

“You are my cousin,” because it must be said out loud.

“Our godly side of family never put much weight on familial relation, because it only brings headaches and terrible mental images. It’s easier to think of them as something else entirely.”

“Are we getting to the point sometime today?”

Deaton gives him a flat look. Then he sighs and sits down. “The gods of Greek are very much real and alive, Stiles.”

Stiles can feel the beginning of a terrible headache already. “You’re saying, Zeus, Ares, Apollo…those gods?”

“Yes, my father is Apollo. And your mother might be Athena.”

“Athena, goddess of warfare and wisdom,” he says. He remembers her long dark hair, her startling grey eyes and her warm laugh under the sunshine in their kitchen. She is a goddess.

“Why did she leave?”

Deaton stops turning the jar in his hand, his face calm. “The gods are not like us, Stiles. If I have to guess, she probably left you and your father out of sense of duty. She cannot be tied to the mortal world. The fact that she spent the first decade of your life by your side is a thing that the gods rarely do. Half of us are just left at the doorstep. The other half being carried by our mother and never know who our father is until the moment they decide to reveal themselves.

“The gods’ love is unpredictable. They play with us mortals to have children to do their bidding. There are some who sincerely love their mortal partner, but others might just be looking for a pretty mortal to have for one night. It is in their nature to be unfaithful. Hera, Artemis and Hestia are the only exception. Hera because she is the goddess of marriage, and Artemis and Hestia because they choose not to lay with anyone.”

There’s something bothering Stiles. “Isn’t Athena a maiden goddess as well? She swore off men, so how did she…you know?”

“Athena has a very unique way of conceiving her children. She does not sleep with anyone. Her children are conceived the same way she was born, through thoughts. That’s why they’re called literal brain children.”

Like that isn’t disturbing. “What do you mean?”

Deaton honestly looks uncomfortable. “I only know these things because I am a child Apollo, and even in my years of service as the camp’s doctor I haven’t encounter the knowledge of the true process. The only way to know the truth is through your mother.”

Because she’s still alive. Stiles sags in his seat and tries not to cry. “What is this camp you’re talking about?”

“Children of the gods have strong scent that monsters actively seek out. Usually at the age of ten to thirteen they are sent to the camp where they are protected inside a force field. Some exceptions are made according to situations. As they grow up their scent will become stronger and that usually kills them at the end.” A dark look settles on Deaton’s face before it disappears. “I don’t know why the monsters have come to Beacon Hills. It could be that my barrier is failing, your scent is getting too strong, or somebody broke through it from the outside without my knowledge.”

“Do you know where I can find my mother?” Stiles asks.

“You can always try the Empire State Building in New York, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Stiles stands up. “Why not? She’s there, isn’t she? I need to know why she left like she did.”

“Stiles,” Deaton says harshly. “One god usually has more than one child. When I left, the Athena cabin has more than ten children.”

It feels like being doused with cold water all of a sudden. Stiles sits back down, staring at Deaton uncomprehendingly. What does that mean?

“It means none of us are special. Sure, once or twice a god might play favorite, but those in favor of their godly parents? They’re tasked with the riskiest of quests, and if they fail, it’s either the end of the world or their life. Trust me Stiles, the gods couldn’t care less about us. Athena will come to you when she wants to. But seeking her out is next to impossible. I’ve created a monster-free home for you. Stay in Beacon Hills. It’s the only place where you’ll be safe.”

Stiles thinks of his mother’s grey eyes and warm laugh. How could she not care about him? She born and raised him. It was only for a few years, but it has got to count for something. Stiles breathes in and out shakily. This will kill his dad if he ever finds out. And Stiles will not be responsible for that one. He doesn’t want to.

Deaton doesn’t say anything as Stiles cries. Stiles loves him for that.

After that, he drives to Derek’s apartment, where he knows most of the pack will be. It’s Sunday. Yesterday was pack meeting, and today is free for all. Usually it will be pack training in the afternoon and dinner and movie in the evening. He isn’t sure if he wants them to know about his mother yet, but he knows he’s got to tell them at some point.

He’s just parked when the door flies open and Scott literally jumps down three stories to get to him.

“Dude, you okay?” He hugs Stiles tightly, which Stiles appreciates but if it gets any tighter he will pop a blood vessel.

“Scottie, buddy, I’m okay. Now unhand me or there will be smiting,” he says playfully. Scott laughs and punches his shoulder.

In Derek’s apartment, Isaac, Allison and Lydia are in the kitchen baking goods. When Stiles enters to greet them, Isaac smothers him before Erica emerges and steals Stiles away to the living room, where he’s sandwiched between her and Boyd. Boyd gives them a long-suffering look but offers Stiles a homemade cupcake, so it’s all good. Erica tells him that Derek and Jackson are out for a run two hours ago, and Stiles is faintly grateful because that means he will have time to get his thoughts sorted out before he tells them. Nothing goes on under Derek’s roof without the alpha there.

“So your mother is a goddess,” Lydia, goddess incarnate, goes to the point without preamble. Stiles loves her so.

“Athena, goddess of warfare and wisdom. How badass is that?” Stiles grins then ducks when Erica tries to swat him.

“Are we talking about Greek gods here? They’re real?” Isaac asks.

“Apparently,” Stiles shrugs. “Deaton and I are first cousins, if you wanna get technical. His father is Apollo, god of the sun, medicine and music. No wonder he became a vet. He used to be a doctor at this camp where other children of the gods stay to train and hide from the monsters.”

“Dude,” Scott frowns. “You’re half human, half god.”

“It’s called a half-blood or demigod, Scott.”

“A half-god, here in the mortal world.” Lydia says thoughtfully, her eyes locked on Stiles. “Is there anything we should know about you? Any special power?”

Special, the word leaves a bad taste in Stiles’s mouth. “There’s nothing special about me. Just same old Stiles. Except I’m now officially monster bait because my scent is getting stronger or something. ADHD is a typical demigod thing, by the way. Deaton meditates to get it under control and he’s also dyslexic, which I’m not so it’s confusing him.”

The door opens then, Jackson and Derek walking in as if they just stepped out of Calvin Klein ads. Stiles spends a little too much time lingering on Derek’s Greek god-class (hah! That’s a thing now) body before tearing his eyes away.

“So now we’ve to deal with monsters who want your skinny ass even though it’s not our problem,” Jackson sneers.

How dare he. “You can pack your stuffs and hide like the coward you are.” Stiles says hotly.

“That explains your scent,” Derek mumbles. Stiles’s eyes turn to him immediately.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“When we first met, you smell like,” ah, there’s Derek Hale’s thinking face that looks like he’s considering homicide at a four hundred meter scale. “Like trees and birds and wisdom and sweets.”

Stiles sputters. Erica cackles beside him and Isaac ducks his head to hide his grin. Lydia and Allison look amused, and Scott looks both confused and disgusted. Boyd remains Boyd. Stiles loves him so.

“Wisdom has scent?” Ah, good old Scottie.

“Not really,” Derek says. “You just know it. As an alpha, there are many things you can hear, smell and see. Right now, Stiles smells like always, but the sweetness and wisdom have increased, and the trees I smelt on him are actually books.”

“The bird symbolizes owl, Athena’s sacred animal,” Lydia puts in. Then, she looks at Stiles with a smirk. “The sweetness is probably the ichor in him. All the big baddies will come for him to have a taste.”

Stiles buries his face in his hands in mortification. He has the worst friends ever. And Derek, stupid Derek with his stubble and perfect face and perfect body is the worst of them all. He can’t just say something like that with a straight face and expects Stiles to not freak out. Oh crap now he’s frowning as if Stiles’s existence is an offensive thing to him. His nose flares and Stiles just want to curl into a ball of shame. He probably smells the arousal from Stiles, which is horrifying as fuck and he can’t stay here any longer.

Except, you know, he can’t just get up and leave, so he’s stuck in a house full of werewolves who are now giving him lecherous grins and Stiles does not deserve any of this, truly.

After dinner, Stiles drives home and thinks. He hasn’t change. Nothing has change, to be honest. Sure, now he knows his mom is actually fucking alive and a goddess, but where does that leave him? Nowhere. He’s still a kid in a too big world trying to make his way around it. He runs with the wolves, but he’s still the weakest of them all. Someday, he would like to talk to his mother again. He cannot deny he misses her. God, he misses her every waking moment. He wants to scream at her and hug her and cry on her to never leave him and his dad again. But that’s impossible in any thinkable way and Stiles will take anything he can.

She will always be Claudia Stilinski to him, no matter what title she has. Stiles will never forget her warmth, because he knows that she really loved him and his dad. Someday, when it hurt less, he will find her and talk. Just to talk. Stiles wants to see her, just one more time if that’s all he can have.

There’s someone on the road. Stiles pulls up and frowns. “Hey,” he calls out to the woman. She’s wearing sunglasses and a leather overcoat with the hoodie up. Well, Stiles had seen stranger things. “Can I help you?”

The woman cocks her head and breaks into a wide grin. “Yes, you can. Would you mind giving me a ride? Just a little ahead. My car broke down.”

Stiles can’t see any car anywhere.

The woman suddenly hisses and turns to sniff at the air. “Reaped hero,” she says to herself, face twisted into an ugly scowl. She turns to Stiles and sneers. “Son of Athena, you shall meet your end at my hand. Not tonight, but soon.”

She disappears into a swirl of purple mist, leaving Stiles to gape at where she used to be. He jumps when a guy lands right in front of his jeep. He has blond hair, shaggy and tied back, with ripped arms visible under a white tank top and a white scar running from his right eye to his jaw. He looks to be around Derek’s age and crap, he’s looking at Stiles now.

Stiles swallows when he sees the sword in his hand. It’s two toned; half bronze and half steel. The guy’s eyes flick to his sword then back at Stiles. His eyes suddenly harden and his body tenses.

“You can see the sword?” He asks. Stiles nods.

The sword is now pointed at him holy fuck Stiles should have learned to say no. “Are you a demigod?” Guy asks again.

“Are you?” Stiles challenges back. The guy falters a little, his eyes wide. Then, he sighs and put the sword through a hoop on his belt.

“Son of Hermes,” he says, eyes staring right into Stiles’s. “I was hunting that woman. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.

“My place.”

Fuck.

* * *

 

The son of Hermes, because he refuses to tell Stiles his name for some reason, is not talkative. He ignores Stiles and the world in general. He looks like he’s not getting enough sleep and has issues with phone because when Stiles takes out his, the guy stares at him as if he’s nut.

“This is a phone,” he says, in case the guy lives under a rock or something.

“I know what it is,” the man snaps. Then he looks at it like he’s never seen it before. “Are you intentionally trying to call all the monsters to you?”

Stiles’s jaw snaps. He turns to the son of Hermes slowly. The guy sees the look he gives him and snorts. “For demigods, using phones or the internet is like giving the ‘come and eat me, I’m free’ signal to all the monsters in the area.”

Right. Stiles looks down at his phone, where a message is waiting to be opened. Not wanting to take any risks (because he’s not stupid, contrary to popular belief, thank you Derek) and slips it back to his pocket. The rest of the ride is silent.

His dad is working overtime, so the house is empty and dark when they arrive. Stiles turns on the lights and goes upstairs to his room, the son of Hermes at his heels. When he opens his door, Derek is sitting on his bed, because why the fucking hell not.

“What are you doing here?” He asks tiredly.

Derek’s eyes flash red and the son of Hermes’s hand flies to his hand. Stiles groans and put himself between them. “Stop it,” he says to Derek, who turns his creepy alpha eyes to Stiles and yeah, that’s intimidating as hell but Stiles will not back down. “This guy,” he gestures to the blond, “is like me. A demigod. And he probably has the answer to why all these monster rampages happen when Deaton has been keeping this place monster free for years.”

The son of Hermes turns to Stiles sharply.

“So there will be no biting, maiming or growling. Put away the fangs, for god’s sake.”

Derek rolls his eyes but they turn back to their natural color and the fangs are actually gone. Huh. Maybe Stiles is a werewolf whisperer. Who knows?

“What is he?” asks the son of Hermes, hand still on his sword.

Stiles takes a deep breath and prays this will not end badly. “He’s a—”

“His protector,” Derek cuts in. Stiles looks at him disbelievingly, but the son of Hermes actually nods like he fucking understands.

“Glad to know he’s not entirely defenseless,” he says.

Stiles keeps his mouth shut and takes his chair to offer to the guy before sitting down beside Derek, who will be explaining what the hell is going on in his head after this. The son of Hermes slumps down, and Stiles finally notices the tired lines under his eyes. He’s also very pale and his hands are shaking.

“How come you’re not at camp?” he asks.

Stiles smacks his lips. “This place has a protective barrier that shuts down any monsters from wandering in. So I was never in any danger. And the funny thing is; I just found out I’m a demigod yesterday from our vet. Strange world, huh.”

“That sounds like what they have back at camp,” the guy says thoughtfully. Then he straightens up and looks at Stiles. “Who is this Deaton?”

“A son of Apollo, retired doctor from the camp. He’s now a vet that caters to anything of supernatural. He’s the one who set up the wards.”

The guy’s eyes flash briefly. “How old is he?”

Is that relevant? “Uh…old enough to be my father?”

“Forty-one,” Derek answers.

The son of Hermes nods. “I don’t know how the monsters get here, if it’s protected like you said. But you know that they are only interested in us demigods. The mortals are safe. You,” he points at Derek, who growls at the gesture. “Never leave his side. Until all of this is sorted out, make sure he’s safe. Give him something to defend himself with.”

“Hey!” Stiles is  _not_  weak, thank you very much. “I can defend myself. I can do magic.”

“A son of Hecate,” the son of Hermes says, his eyes looking at Stiles strangely.

Stiles shakes his head. “Uh, no. Son of Athena, actually. That’s what the creepy lady called me.”

“Di immortales,” the guy whispers, his eyes wide and he looks at Stiles wildly. “Of course. That’s why she came after you.” Then his face scrunches up. “This is not good. She will stop at nothing to get to you.”

“Why,” Derek demands.

“That woman was Medusa,” the son of Hermes says to Stiles. “She holds a strong grudge against your mother.”

Stiles remembers something like that. “Because Athena caught her and Poseidon in her temple, right?”

A strange look passes the guy’s face when Stiles said Poseidon, but it’s gone in a flash and he nods. “Athena turned her and her sisters to creatures with snakes as hair. Never look at her in the eye. That’s how she turns her victim to stones. Leave this to me.”

“You haven’t told us your name,” Derek growls. “Why should we trust you?”

Stiles is about to point out they haven’t told him their name either when the guy speaks up, “Luke.”

“Oh um, Stiles.”

The strange look is back again oh god will Stiles ever be free of that, because it doesn’t seem like it’s going away anytime soon. “Is that your real name?”

“No. My real name is a language disaster that nobody should ever be subjected to pronounce. It’s horrid.”

Luke smiles. “That’s good. Guard your name. Names have power.”

“That’s what my mom said,” and it’s true.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Luke says warmly. Then, he stills. “Wait, you’ve met your mother?”

This is a dangerous territory, Stiles just knows it. The look on Luke’s face is slightly crazed. “She left when I was eleven.” By pretending to be dead. Stiles will probably never get over that. Luke’s face is stormy all of a sudden. He grabs Stiles by the shoulders.

“How old are you?” he asks, his voice shaking.

“Seventeen,” Stiles answers.

Luke looks furious. He releases Stiles and he’s fingering his sword dangerously.

“That wretched woman!” he curses under his breath. Outside, the sky rumbles ominously. Luke looks up and scowls. “You deserve that!” He says. Then, he turns to leave but not before giving Derek a sharp look. “Don’t ever leave him. If he’s hurt because you’re not there, you’re not fit to be a protector. And I will be the one who will relieve you of your duty.”

When the front door is slammed shut loudly, Stiles jumps and hurries to his window. He sees Luke walking away quickly, probably mumbling more curses while he’s at it. He turns to Derek. “What the hell was that?”

Derek scowls. “Hell if I know.”

Stiles sighs and lay down on his bed. “Why didn’t you tell him you’re a werewolf? And what the hell is a protector?”

“I don’t trust him,” Derek says, and Stiles snorts because that’s nothing new. “And I don’t think we have the same definition of protector.”

The next day after school, Stiles goes to Deaton’s clinic.

“There’s another demigod here. His name is Luke, son of Hermes.”

Deaton looks up, blinking before he directs Stiles to sit down. “Tell me from the beginning.”

After Stiles finishes his story, Deaton hums noncommittally under his breath before sighing. “I fixed the barrier yesterday, so you have less to worry about. But Medusa is a big trouble. Luke is right. She will stop at nothing to get to you.”

“Have you found out why the barrier didn’t hold?”

“It must have been Luke who came here first, creating a hole for the monsters to come through. Ask him if he’s staying here, so I can adjust the barrier to accommodate him as well. Did he say anything else?”

He said a lot of strange things, like their age is somehow significant, and that he’s angry about Athena. But Stiles is pretty sure Deaton doesn’t mean those. Only Luke can answer the questions Stiles has in mind.

Stiles fidgets. “He wants to handle Medusa alone, but I want to know if I can do something.”

“At this point? Your best bet is to not get in Luke’s way.”

Stiles goes home with frustrated heart. He showers and lay on his bed, staring unblinkingly at his ceiling for half an hour before working on his homework. After that, he goes downstairs to prepare dinner. When his dad comes home, he notes the tired lines across his face and the heavy sigh he heaves.

“Long day?” he asks.

His dad grunts. “Three people went missing, and there’s no lead whatsoever.”

Stiles pauses, then resumes his stirring. “I hope this case will be solved soon.”

“Me too, kid. What are you making?”

Stiles grins. “Pasta.”

* * *

 

The next two days are relatively silent, and boring.

Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Scott take turn to guard him. Stiles isn’t even sure they arranged it, because they all seem perfectly natural about it. At home, it’s either Scott or Derek who’s with him. Mostly Derek though, and yes, Stiles probably shouldn’t read too much into that but who can blame him when Derek drapes himself all over Stiles’s bed and eats his food?

Derek Hale is also hot as fuck, which is not good, not good at all for Stiles’s sanity.

Saturday evening, Medusa corners him in his house.

Well, he did say it was boring.

* * *

“Holy motherfucking—“

Stiles is running for his life. Medusa is right behind him and there’s an unmistakable multiple hissing noises with her. He had been in the kitchen to get some water when she appeared right behind him and Stiles did not even look back before he took off to the woods.

“Come here, boy!” Medusa shrieks. Stiles wants to laugh and say, ‘yeah, right’ but his lungs are burning and he’s not sure if he can keep this up for a long time. Medusa is freakishly fast and she hasn’t slowed down since they begin their chase. His energy hasn’t recovered fully and Stiles isn’t sure he wants to risk a failure and leaving himself vulnerable afterward.

He trips over a hidden root and falls face first. Dirt and leaves enter his mouth. Spitting it out, Stiles makes a move to stand up but there’s a sudden weight on his leg that pulls him back down. He groans in pain and turns, realizing a little too late who he’s dealing with as he shut his eyes resolutely.

There’s a tickling sensation on his face and  _oh my god_  (gods?) _hissing noises_.

“Open your eyes, Stiles,” the monster croons. She cups his face and turns it. “Let me see those eyes of wisdom. You do not have your mother’s eyes, but you have the rest of her.” She tightens her hold, drawing a gasp of pain from Stiles. “Open them!” she hisses out.

“Get off!” Stiles snaps, but she only laughs and it sounds so horrible. _Why hasn’t anyone get to him yet?!_

“Stiles!” A voice calls out but Stiles doesn’t know who it is. It doesn’t matter however when the weight on his legs are lifted off.

“Traitor!” Medusa screeches.

“Stiles, keep your eyes shut.” It’s Luke. Luke is here to defend him and it’s okay. Stiles nods frantically, drawing himself up.

“You defied her,” Medusa says.

Luke laughs. “She didn’t do a thorough background check on me before she decides to let me surface to the above world.”

“And what is it that keeps you from siding with her? She promises anything.”

There’s silence until Medusa laughs gleefully, the sound grating on Stiles’s ear.

“Did she not promise you the daughter of Athena? Oh I remember her. So pretty and bright. She would have made you a wonderful bride.”

Luke laughs again, this time it’s bitter and hollow. “The bargain was useless, because the very thing I wanted is the one she wanted to destroy the most.”

Stiles can’t see what’s happening, but he knows Luke and Medusa are engaged in a fight. Luke lets out war cry, and Medusa is hissing and fighting back. Stiles looks away before opening his eyes. His heart is beating loudly. He crawls behind a tree before carefully takes a peek. Luke’s eyes are wide open but he’s careful not to look at Medusa in the eyes. The monster woman is a horrid sight to the eyes. Her overcoat is gone, replaced by some sort of tattled robe. Her hair is the very thing Stiles has seen when he looked her up on the internet. It’s a tangle of small snakes, each hissing and biting at Luke every time he comes close.

Stiles has never been so grateful in his life when he hears a faint cry of ‘Stiles!’

A few seconds later, the whole pack sans Lydia and Allison are there. Their eyes are fixed on the fight behind Stiles warily, their muscles tensing under their clothes and all of them had their beta form on before they turn human again.

“Don’t look at her in the eyes. She will turn you to stone that way.” Stiles’s voice breaks through their stupor. Scott is beside him in a flash.

“Are you hurt?” His eyes flash beta gold. Stiles shakes his head and stands up. He’s luckily not barefooted, but he’s wearing only a thin shirt and the cold is finally biting at him.

He sees Derek, Boyd and Jackson shift into their beta form again before leaping into the fight with a loud roar.

“I will tear that bitch apart,” Erica growls into Stiles’s ear. Stiles nods and runs his hand through her hair to soothe her. Stiles turns to the fight, where it seems that Medusa is finally overwhelmed by her four opponents.

Luke lets out a particularly loud cry before stabbing Medusa in the back with his sword. The monster shrieks in pain, and Stiles looks away, burying his face to Erica’s shoulder. He hears her body drops, a choking sound before everything is silent again. He looks back to where Luke and the others surround her body as it slowly turns into golden dust.

“There is a story after my death that the monsters bring with them to Tartarus,” Medusa says, her voice soft, a far cry from the grating insane one she used before. “They said the right hand of Kronos watches the half-blood of Poseidon like one of Eros’s arrow finally got to him. Is the child of the sea the one you want, after all?”

Luke does not answer, but Medusa laughs anyway. “Eyes of the most beautiful blue in the world, I recall.” And then she’s gone and in her place is golden dust.

Luke sighs and stabs his sword to the ground. “His eyes are the green of the sea, not blue.”  

He turns to them, one by one, before his eyes land on Stiles.

“You have a lot of explanation to give, cousin,” he says to Stiles with a sardonic grin. “Because I’m pretty sure your protector is not half goat and there’s more than one of them.”

* * *

 

The weeks pass by calmly, as if the storm that hit Stiles’s life is suddenly gone with Medusa’s death. He had brought Luke to Deaton. The vet kept looking at Luke with sad eyes before giving him a job at the clinic until he can find a better one. Luke moved to the apartment beside Derek’s, but he kept to himself most of the time so Stiles made sure to be as loud as he can whenever he visited. Luke made the mistake of knocking once to ask them to keep it down and somehow Stiles managed to rope him into their movie night.

It was only once, but Stiles counts on that small victory.

The second time Stiles manages to drag Luke out of his apartment, he sits down beside the glowering man while the others are distracted either with tonight’s movie selection or in the kitchen making snacks.

“So, what’s your story?” He starts casually.

Luke gives him an eyebrow. Stiles points at his general direction. “The scar, dude. Your sword. Why aren’t you at camp, for a start?”

The older demigod sighs. “I should have known it’s impossible to keep a son of Athena away forever.” Stiles grins at the statement. Luke huffs and fingers his beer that Derek gave him with a very meaningful look. Luke had returned it with a formal nod. Erica nipped at Derek’s forearm for that one. “I’m too old for camp,” he says.

Erica and Isaac snort simultaneously while Scott gives Luke a very disapproving look from their place on the floor, DVDs littered around them.

Stiles gives Luke a very significant look, to which the blond scowls.

“I…” Luke pinches his nose and flicks it, a move that Stiles knows he does when he’s nervous. “I made a very bad call when I was nineteen. And now I’m no longer allowed at the camp. They don’t even know I’m still alive, except for the gods.”

The look in Luke’s eyes is upsetting and hollow, so Stiles changes the subject. “So, your scar?”

Luke scowls a bit as he runs a hand through the mark on his face. “A quest gone wrong. It was my first and last one. My father was disappointed, but he’s rarely proud of me, so it’s nothing new.”

Stiles frowns. “You’re not lying, but you’re not giving anything either.”

“Son of the god of eloquent speaking,” Luke says with a wan grin.

On Sunday, Luke gets a haircut. He looks healthier now. The bags are gone and his skin is of healthy tan instead of sickly pale. He got a job at the DVD rental shop, and using his first paycheck, he had bought a bike much like Scott’s.

He’s also practically a magician with a sword and Stiles spent no less than a week swooning over how cool is that. The first training session, he had all the betas on their back. Derek and him take turn being on their back, but most days it’s Derek (which hurt his alpha sensibility but he’s like a puppy you can’t shake off so it’s always a showdown between the two and Stiles may or may not enjoy watching the two shirtless men duking it out and, yeah, shutting up now).

“I was the camp instructor,” Luke shrugs when Isaac pesters him to tell him his secrets. “And all the demigods are good with at least one weapon. This girl from the Ares cabin can throw a spear as far as a hundred yard away and still hit the target. And the Apollo kids can shoot an arrow at an apple from the same distance with their eyes shut. But the special ones are the kids of the Big Three.”

“Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, right?” Lydia, beautiful perfect Lydia, asks. They’re at the ruined Hale house, sitting around a campfire and toasting marshmallow. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but everyone pairs up and he ends up sitting next to Derek, who’s staring broodingly at the fire and it probably says something about Stiles because he finds even that hot.

Luke nods. “Thalia can summon down lightning. The son of Hades, Nico di Angelo, controls the dead, both skeletons and ghosts, and the ground. The son of Poseidon,” Luke pauses. “He can breathe underwater, bring earthquake and hurricane. Heal himself with water, and control it like a limb he’s born with.”

Stiles feels himself breathless at the end. He knows the gods are powerful, but controlling something like those? It’s the stuff of fantasy. And yes, he’s aware he’s running with mystical creatures of the night, but  _dude_ , natural elements? All he can make is fire as big as his fist and even that exhausts him.

“You remind me of him, by the way,” Luke says, and Stiles blinks when he realizes it’s him Luke’s talking to.

“Who?”

Luke gives a small smile. “Percy, he’s the son of Poseidon, and probably the most powerful demigod I’ve ever met.” There’s a note of reverence at the end that makes Stiles blink again. “The first time he picked up a sword and sparred with me, the best swordsman at that time, it took him only two tries to disarm me and have me at sword point.”

“And that’s when you fell in love?” Allison meant it as a joke, but Luke’s face shutters down immediately and a terse silence falls.

Allison looks around awkwardly. “I’m sorry—“ she starts to say, but Luke waves her off and takes a deep breath.

“I guess it has to come out at some point,” and the smile on his face makes Stiles wants to cry. It’s pained and nostalgic and probably self-loathing as well. Luke plays with his stick, turning it back and forth. “He was thirteen at that time. I was nineteen. But for demigods, things like that is the last we care about. I was the mentor that he looked up to, but when he came back from his first quest, I betrayed him for revenge and power.”

Luke’s face is dark. The others are silent, only the sound of firewood crackling breaking the silence. Then, Luke speaks up again. “On my last day at the camp, I brought him down to say goodbye. I tried to get him to come with me, but he’s too loyal and good. And maybe I know that too. He didn’t want to come with me so I tried to kill him. He survived, just like I know he would.

“After that, it’s years and years of fighting. I led the army of Kronos, and he’s the gods’ salvation. They love him, you know. Want to make him immortal and all. But Percy,” here Luke pauses to take a deep breath then releases it. “Percy did not take the offer. Instead, he made the last thing I asked of him to come true. I told him to not let what happened to me happens to other demigods. So for his reward after the war was over, he asked the gods to start noticing their children, claim them and acknowledge them. He’s just that good, and I’ve loved him for years.”

“Where is he now?” Boyd, silent as rock Boyd, asks.

“Probably with his girlfriend.” Luke looks at Stiles. “She’s a daughter of Athena, your sister. She was the second demigod I met and I love her like a sister. That’s why I protected you. She will not lose another family member, if I can help it.”

And that… that’s just a confession Stiles can’t ignore. He stands up and approaches Luke, replacing Isaac beside him. Stiles puts an arm around Luke’s shoulders, patting the blond awkwardly a few times. Luke stares at him bewilderedly. The others are also staring at Stiles like he’s gone off his rocker, Zeus help him.

“You’re a good man,” he says to Luke, who gives him both eyebrows before smiling. “I don’t know what pushed you to be part of your granddad’s army of baddies, but you’ve been living an unfair life before that so you fought against it. I know you’re a good man, Luke, just with some bad choices.”

Luke’s eyes are glossy, and Stiles thinks he might cry at that moment. Luke ruins it by shoving Stiles and saying, “He’s your great-grandfather too.”

* * *

Luke isn’t pack, but he just falls into place with them, and that’s as good as pack, in Stiles’s opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed the previous chapter. I swear I'm a fucking moron for not noticing the mistakes. I also made slight changes on the dialogues and stuffs. If you're interested.
> 
> Also, read the new tags guys.

Luke had wanted to try for rebirth, he did.

But when the judges asked him: _“Do you have regrets?”_

He has a lot of them. He wanted to have that picnic with Annabeth and Thalia and his mother. He wanted to go back to camp for his future siblings. He wanted to grovel down to Silena and Beckendorf and a hundreds many other unnamed demigods and ask for forgiveness. He wanted to punch his father at least once, and then hug him. He wanted to come home to his mother and tell her he loved her. He wanted to be by Percy’s side.

The judges saw all of this and decided to delay their judgment. They let Luke wandered, and comes back once he’s decided to let go of his regrets. He would have been allowed Elysium, with other demigods who’d died a hero’s death. He would have been in peace.

He cannot let go of his regrets.

He’d wandered for months, listening to the wailings of tortured souls in the distance. The life he’d lived played before him in repeat, mocking him for all he’d done. Luke would have gone on like that for years, but then a soft voice called for him.

 _“Come,”_ it said, a woman’s voice. _“Come with me, great hero. All you wanted shall be yours.”_

Luke has a lot of regrets, so he took the hand extended to him and surfaced to the above world.

The soft voice continued talking to him, filling him in on events that have and will happen. Luke did not understand at first, he was running for his new life and trying to figure out what he was going to do. He went to the camp first, and what he saw terrified him to the core.

Marches of great monster approached Camp Half-Blood. There were demigods he’d never seen before in gleaming armors. They were not of Camp Half-Blood, they were trained soldiers.

“Romans, they want to destroy the Greeks. Just like in the old time.”

The voice had come from behind Luke. He had turned and saw the goddess Gaea for the first time. She was terrible and beautiful to look at, her eyes closed and face serene. He had not known who she was at that time, but the power she radiated told Luke she was a goddess, much more ancient and powerful than any gods he’d ever met. He had been terrified, but not enough to keep his mouth from asking.

“What do you mean?”

“Since the old time, the Romans and Greeks have clawed at each other for triumph and victory. The encounters between the demigod children of the two aspects of gods have always ended in bloodshed. Even my son…” she trailed off. Then she said again, “Do you see now, great hero? The Olympians and their children are not to be trusted. They scream for blood every waking moment.”

Luke wanted to refute that statement, but instead he cocked his head respectfully and the goddess disappeared between a blink and the next.

It was weeks before Luke finally noticed Gaea has not spoken to him for a long while. He started hunting down monsters around that time, and every time they came back from the dead, Luke had a terrible feeling. Once, he held one on sword point and interrogated it.

“The Mother Earth!” It shrieked fearfully, two-tipped tongue slithering out at the motion. “She grants great power and enormous rewards to those who follow her. Kill the godlings on the ship, she said. Spill their blood on the ancient stones to wake her. The Doors of Death is open, and the dead ones are back. Are you not one of us, traitor? Hadn’t you betray your brethren and turned your back on your—”

Luke stabbed.

It didn’t revive.

When Backbiter came back to him, lying next to him when he woke up from a brief restless sleep, he knew what it meant.

_Protect. This is your second chance._

The gods of Olympus had turned a blind eye on his return. They cannot interrupt directly with the lives of mortals, but they can do nothing about it. And so Luke chased the rapidly thinning monsters back and forth, left and right, until he stumbled upon Beacon Hills and Medusa came up right behind him.

* * *

“Question Time!”

Luke sighs and turns to the son of Athena, who’s bouncing on his heels and his lips stretch into a wide grin.

“What now, Stiles? I actually have a work to do.” He emphasizes it by picking up a DVD before shoving it into the shelf. It is a slow morning. It’s always slow, to be fair, but today his only customer is Stiles, who’s not interested at all in picking up anything

It’s been two months since he started living in Beacon Hills. At times the place feels like it’s on a different plane altogether, with the quietness and close community. Luke likes it here. In Beacon Hills, it seems like time has stopped and he’s not on borrowed time.

Which is very likely because of the barrier Deaton put up, but that’s a can of earthworms that Luke is not willing to open up just yet.

Deaton knows who Luke is and what he had done. It didn’t take much prompting from Deaton for Luke to break like a dam. Deaton had not said anything after Luke finished. He only pushed a glass of the godly drink into Luke’s hand and told him to rest. Luke slept for two whole days. He rarely slept since his escape from the underworld. Between Gaea at the back of his mind and hunting down monsters, he did not get much chance settling down in one place for more than a few hours.

When he woke up, he was alone, still in Deaton’s clinic. There was a faint buzz at the back of his head, and the door on his left side was pushed open. Deaton entered with Stiles then, the son of Athena immediately on Luke’s side asking all sorts of question before Deaton sent him on his way to get Luke some more ambrosia and nectar.

“I’ve talked to my contact,” Deaton started, looking at Luke in the eyes, but without judgment. “The Doors of Death are closed. Gaea is gone. The demigods and Artemis’s hunters, along with the Amazons are working together hunting down monsters, so you might want to take a rest for now. You’re safe here.”

Luke sat there, dazed, before he snapped his head up to look at Deaton. “Amazon? Like an all-woman nation?”

Deaton made an exasperated noise. “They’re a group of female warriors, with followers all over the world. The current queen is Hylla, half-blood daughter of Bellona, Roman goddess of war.”

“Is that what I saw at Camp Half-Blood’s entrance? Roman demigods?”

“Yes.”

“Are they trouble?” Luke made a move to get on his feet, but Deaton pushed him back with a stern look.

“No, they are not. The praetor—leader if you will, Reyna, sister of Hylla, made a gesture of peace to end the bloodshed between the two aspects of gods. They fought side by side with the Greeks during the battle against Gaea,” here Deaton made the sign to ward off evil, “and now the Romans and Greeks are at peace with each other.”

The door opened and Stiles shuffled in, oblivious—or at least pretending to be—to the atmosphere in the room as he deposited the flask and box to the table. He looked up then, squinting at Deaton. “How come you tell Luke all these stuffs and not me?”

Deaton moved to grab the box and offered a few tiny cubes of ambrosia to Luke. “Have you been listening in?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Obviously. You would have never told me anything otherwise.”

Luke surprised himself by smiling at the sneaky move. Deaton shook his head and Stiles smiled brightly, but the smile melted off. “Oh man, I just realized we’re all first cousins. Wow, talk about weird.”

“I told you to stop thinking about it that way,” Deaton said, but Stiles shrugged unrepentantly and made totally inappropriate jokes for the next ten minutes before Luke was out cold again.

The next time he woke up, five hours later, Deaton offered him a job in the clinic before giving him a key and had Stiles sent him to his new apartment.

Luke can’t remember the last time he was in peace.

“Other than sword fighting, which is totally badass and cool, what else can you do?”

Luke picks up the empty box and goes to the storage room to throw it in. His boss always makes sure to stock boxes, to recycle, he said. Stiles follows all the way back to the counter. Luke takes his place behind it, and Stiles leans across, face unabashedly curious.

Luke gives him a stern exasperated look, just for good measure, before giving in. He knows there is no way he can deter a child of Athena when they’re onto something. He’s speaking on first-hand experience. Although, he also has a first-hand experience of evading it. But he won’t, not today at least. Or for the foreseeable future.

He’s once again wrapped around the finger of a child of Athena. He swears the goddess has something on his father.

“I can steal anything, and I mean _anything_ from anywhere, anytime. That cool enough?”

Stiles still looks unsatisfied.

“I am very athletic.”

Now he looks even more unimpressed.

“I have some control over travel and speed?”

“Finally!” Stiles throws his hands up in mock flourish. “Something magical!”

“I can also pick any lock in the world.”

“Oh man.” Stiles gives him a worshipping look. “That’s _so cool_.”

Luke’s heart softens against his better judgment. Stiles is just like Percy all those years ago. All bright eyed and hyperactive and inability to stay focused on one subject for too long. At times Luke has a hard time remembering that _this_ is Annabeth’s brother. Serious, calculating Annabeth with stormy gray eyes and plans that had backup plans that had backup plans. From what he knows, Stiles is the research guy every time something comes up, and _that_ is the typical role of a child of Athena. But more often than not Stiles throws himself into the fray all for the sake of his friends. He is fiercely loyal and loving and…just like Percy.

The name still gives him a twinge in the heart every time, but it no longer hurts as bad as it had months ago. He has come to term with the fact that even though he’s now alive for the second time, he might never see Percy again. Or Annabeth. Or Thalia. Or Travis, Connor and Chris. He wants to visit his mother, but it may be still too soon. He can’t…he can’t look at her in the eyes anymore. The woman she once was is no longer there, but it still shamed him to come back to her, hands dripping with the blood of the innocents.

None of the gods has visited him yet, and probably for the best too. Beacon Hills is the sanctuary for him. His version of Elysium. Having them here would be like a punch in the guts. Or a knife to his Achilles’s heel. Which he no longer has, because his invincibility is gone for good.

“—thing else?”

Luke catches the end of Stiles’s question. “That’s it.”

Stiles deflates, before perking up again. “What about me? What can a child of Athena do?”

“They are….” Luke purposely drags out the sentence, smirking at the eager look on Stiles’s face. “Very smart.”

The look on Stiles’s face puts even Chiron’s disapproving frown to shame. “Dude, not cool.”

Luke laughs. “I’m serious,” he says. “Their backup plans have backup plans. Which have backup plans. A kid of Athena will give you a sure-victory. Trust me. They almost never lost any game or fight. Although, I hear rumors…”

Stiles’s hopeful look almost makes Luke feel bad about this. Almost.

He leans in, as if to share a secret. Stiles dutifully accommodates for him to whisper, “They are very good at weaving, with and without experience.”

Stiles scowls. “Stop—“

“Stiles.”

Luke hides his grin when Stiles turns to look at Derek, who’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed and looking very intimidating with his leather jacket and stormy expression.

See, thing is; Derek is a hopeless idiot in love, so even though he knows Luke is baiting him on purpose, he can never contain his jealousy anyway, which amuses Luke to no ends. Wolves are very territorial in nature. And Luke knows Stiles always carries his scent because of the time they spend together, so Derek always tries to cut in. His betas have a betting pool going on, and Luke may or may not have a few bucks on Stiles.

“Get in the car, you’re needed at the apartment,” Derek says, not even bothering to ask Stiles. Luke makes a show of shaking his head. Derek glares at him over Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles remains blissfully ignorant of the jealousy the alpha exudes like waves.

“Can’t this wait?” Stiles complains. He always complains, but he also never refuses, so he’s already walking towards Derek. Luke would have been offended being left in the dust like that, but he knows intimately what a smitten man would do for the one who holds his heart.

 “Stay in the car. I’ll be there in a minute,” Derek says. Stiles gives him a confused look, before finally noticing Derek is not looking at him. He’s glaring at Luke.

“It’s okay, Stiles. I need to talk to him.” Luke gives him a smile. Stiles warily backs off, closing the door in front of him before walking away to the Camaro. When Stiles is inside the car, Luke turns his attention to Derek and opens his mouth to give the man a piece of his mind, but Derek beats him to it.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you will stop this right now.”

Luke gives him an utterly unimpressed look. “You will not charm Stiles with that.”

Derek steps forward, body tight as if ready to spring at any moment’s notice. Luke is very familiar with that feeling. “You think it’s fun riling up an alpha? If you do that again—”

“Look,” stupid prideful moron, “you haven’t made any move, so he’s on the market. What would you do if a human takes an interest on him? Or a werewolf? Or even another alpha?” Derek’s eyes glow like the red traffic light, only bloodier. “He won’t wait for you forever. If you don’t start treating him with respect now, I imagine he’ll just stop. Humans, even a half like him, have their limits.”

Derek looks, honest to gods, taken aback. He stops in his track, eyes watching Luke with wide eyes. Oh gods, he really hadn’t thought of that before, had he? This is even worse than Beckendorf’s terrible crush on Silena. And _that_ had been physically painful to watch.

“Anyone with eyes can see how much he adores you, and you him. What are you even afraid of?”

Luke can almost see Derek’s muscles work to put up a front, a self-defense mechanism. “He’s just turned seventeen. He’s not even legal yet.” After a pause, Derek adds grudgingly. “And his dad’s the sheriff.”

The thought of John Stilinski chasing Derek Hale with his guns blazing, screaming unflattering things about the alpha and how dare he even comes close to his son makes Luke laugh. Derek glowers at him.

“No, listen,” Luke says and makes sure he holds Derek’s gaze. “He and I are demigods. We have a skewed perception of time. Most demigods do not even make it to their twenties.” Derek’s stormy look turns even, well, stormier. “So you listen to me when I say hold onto it while you can. Yes, I know you and the pack will protect him with everything you have, but this is about gods and ancient beings, Hale. There will come a time where you cannot help or reach him. Some of us are destined to meet our fate alone. He is a demigod, it’s in his blood.”

“I can’t just—“ Derek snaps, but Luke cuts in.

“Yes, you can,” he says sternly, glaring at Derek. Derek glares back. “This is,” Luke sighs and runs a hand through his face, “not just about you, Hale. He’s a teenage demigod. Let him have something until something finally gets to him.”

“You’re saying as if you expect something to happen to him.” There’s an edge to Derek’s voice, as if daring him to say so.

Luke has faced down gods and monsters alike. Derek Hale does not scare him. “A demigod’s life is that. Something always happens.”

“I will protect him when it comes to it,” Derek says stubbornly.

Luke has spent a year regretting his choices. Taking too long and diving headfirst into something he truly doesn’t understand. He had these visions in his head; when Kronos wins the war, he will make the gods see. Make his father sees what he’d thrown away. Make the gods suffer through the consequences of their actions. He’d always imagined that. It felt like the one last thing he had to hold onto.

In the end, it does not matter. He’s always trying to be bigger, bigger, like he had a place somewhere in the grand scheme of thing. It’s the small things that mattered to him. Sure, his dad’s a grade A-jerk, but nobody’s shining with medals either. It’s his family that mattered. His mother. Annabeth. Thalia. Percy.

He knows Annabeth would forgive him without a thought. Thalia would probably hate him on sight. And Percy...

Percy would be complicated. His loyalty would weigh down on him like an anchor to forgive Luke. Even when the whole camp, the gods and nature itself go against Luke, he would be there by Luke’s side. Luke knew that when Percy gave him Annabeth’s knife, knew that Percy believed in Luke like he’s always had since they first met.

But he’d be faced with his friends’ disappointment. And Percy is nothing if not loyal. The question is who he loved more; Luke, or his family and friends.

“Stop being selfish. He’s half-god. You think human laws apply to him? No, they don’t. I don’t want to tell you ‘I told you so,’ which I will not, when everything goes to hell. So you will shove that sorry excuse you made to get him away from me and take him out to coffee, or so help me I will end you.”

Luke once made a threat like that towards Derek, two months ago when he thought Derek was a satyr. He had been serious then. He is serious now. Stiles does not deserve a man who cares more about people’s opinions than his feelings.

Derek’s face is stony. He turns and leaves without a word.

Luke punches a wall. Luckily, it’s also a perfect spot for the new posters.

* * *

There’s a dragon in the woods.

There’s a **_dragon_** in the woods.

“How is this our life, seriously?” Stiles stares up at the twenty-foot tall winged creature, Luke at his side and Derek on the other. Since their talk two weeks ago, the two men have been on edge around each other. According to Scott, it’s even worse when Stiles is not there. Luke mostly riling Derek up (Scott refused to explain further) and Derek growling with his fangs and claws actually out. Stiles is not even sure he wants to know, even though he’s burning with curiosity.

Back to the dragon, who is staring at them and not doing anything dangerous in actuality. It has bronze colored skin, golden reptilian eyes which are now looking at Stiles, holy Athena. Stiles has a feeling this creature is actually intelligent, if its bored stare is any indication.

Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac have the dragon surrounded in case it tries anything. Scott looks tense and confused, which is his default expression about 90% of the time, so it really doesn’t count. Erica is wary. Isaac looks as if he wants to touch it, to which Stiles gives warning eyebrows. Boyd is Boyd.

“Uh…hey!” Stiles gives what he thinks is a smile and not a grimace. He has a feeling it’s not, because there’s a rumbling around the dragon’s stomach. Or maybe it’s hungry for werewolves or demigods. Most likely demigods, though. “I don’t want to be rude or anything, but you’re kinda encroaching a taken territory. It’s okay if you wanna hang out for a while though, as long as you keep away from the humans and not terrorizing the woods. And uh, it would be actually great if you can communicate with us. You speak Ancient Greek? Ancient Latin works too, just let me get our friend if that’s the case.”

The dragon is definitely laughing this time, because the wicked sharp teeth make an appearance and its chest moves like earthquake. It sounds like earthquake too, the rumbling that comes from it.

Erica bares her fangs. She never takes well to bullies.

Then the strangest thing happens.

Between a blink and the next, there’s a snow white owl on where the gigantic dragon once. The owl takes off and lands on Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles stares at it, eyes wide and heart pounding rapidly. The owl cocks its head, croons and pecks Stiles’s nose.

“Ow!” Stiles swats at the owl, which smoothly takes off and turns into a wolf this time.

That sparks growls all around. Stiles looks up, a hand nursing his nose, and saw all the werewolves have shifted into their beta form. They’re slowly approaching the…shape-shifting thing? Yeah, shape-shifter. That sounds about right. The shape-shifter does not even look threatened. It’s regarding the werewolves curiously, as if it’s browsing through an aisle of woodland creature meat. The thought makes Stiles shudders.

It happens in a blink. Where the wolf was, a big Asian guy in purple t-shirt and dark jeans is standing on it.

“Oh man,” he says in a whisper, awed. “ _Werewolves_.”

Luke pounces.

The guy did not see him coming, so Luke aims at a vulnerable spot behind him. But the guy steps away at the last second, wide eyes regarding Luke. Luke does not give him a chance to recover and thrust easily at the guy, who evades like he has a sword pointed at him every day.

Which…he probably does.

“Stop!” Stiles is not even aware he’s yelling until Luke stops mid-swing and they’re all staring at him. Stiles ignores them and walks up to the guy. Stiles unashamedly looks at him up and down. The guy’s huge, with ripped arms and well-defined body not-quite-hidden under his purple shirt. He has tiny scars and a tattoo of ‘SPQR’ and crossed spears on his forearm. Stiles has the strangest feeling of wanting to wipe that tattoo off him.

He looks at the guy in the eyes. “Are you a demigod?”

The guy nods, cheeks tinted slightly as if he’s embarrassed. “I was searching for a place to stretch. I didn’t know that you uh…” he looks around, “have actual werewolves here. Reyna told me this is a safe spot.”

 _Reyna_. Stiles remembers that name. Luke’s grim look is gone, replaced by a curious one. He studies the guy’s purple shirt (which actually has ‘SPQR’ printed on it) and tattoo.

“Are you a Roman?” Stiles asks again.

“Yes. Praetor Frank Zhang, son of Mars.” The guy made a formal salute, which Stiles awkwardly looks at before hastily copying it. If this is some kind of formal demigod greeting and Luke purposely never teaches him, the son of Hermes will pay.

Frank laughs. “No, no. That’s a Roman salute. I know you’re Greek, so you can relax. We Romans are just too uptight, as our Greek counterparts like to say.”

“And I imagine we Greeks act like uncoordinated drunk satyrs compared to Romans too,” Luke says.

“I don’t know about that,” Frank says. “But I know a guy or two who fights like that’s all they’ve known their whole life.”

“Percy Jackson,” Luke says.

“Yes, hi—“ Frank falters, and he’s looking at Luke really closely. “I’ve never seen you around Camp Half-Blood.”

“Well,” Luke shrugs, smiling at Frank at his own inside joke, which Stiles will yell at him later for. “Some birds will have to leave the nest at some point.”

“You’re really good with that sword,” Frank says, looking down at the two-toned sword. “You would have been a tremendous help in the last war.”

“I was fighting monsters away from the camp. I would have been there sooner, but they just won’t stay dead.”

Frank grimaces, as if reliving a painful memory. “We took care of that.”

“Mars is Ares,” Luke says. His hands are tight around his sword. “I never knew children of Mars can shift into animals.”

Stiles wants to fall over Frank’s feet and beg him for his secrets. Look at all these demigods he’d heard about. All of them have magical abilities one way or another. And what does he get? A brain. Which helped him deal with all the crap these werewolves bring with them, so, fair. But not really.

Frank reddens. “I’m a descendent of Poseidon from my mother’s side. Long ago, the god blessed my family with the ability to turn into anything we want, within reasons.”

Stiles groans at that. That should be obscene. Frank is a descendant of _two_ gods, instead of one.

“I imagine Clarisse did not take that well,” Luke says, and Frank smiles wryly at that.

“What were you doing here?” Derek asks, his eyes unreadable. “This place is not open to outsiders and we don’t take trespassers lightly.”

“I _was_ stretching,” Frank says insistently. “I wasn’t doing anything, I swear.”

Stiles approaches Frank, so Frank is forced to look at him. Stiles smiles harmlessly. “Are you in a hurry? I have questions I want to ask.”

Realization dawns on Frank’s face. “Holy Mars, you’re a son of Athena.”

“Is that a problem?” Stiles challenges.

“No,” Frank says, looking intimidated instead of the opposite. “I know only one other child of Athena, and she scares me.”

* * *

According to Frank, he doesn’t mash up that well with children of Athena, because of the war aspect of the goddess and his father which clashes more often than not. Stiles takes that in stride and invites him to the café around the corner. After Stiles’s belated introduction, Frank orders an honest to gods black coffee, because he’s lactose intolerant instead of dyslexic.

“I’m not dyslexic, but I’m not lactose intolerant either,” Stiles confides as he slurps his vanilla shake and Frank looks at him jealously for the next five seconds.

Luke and Derek have gone back to their respective apartment, Derek with Boyd and Erica in tow. Deaton called Scott in, which leaves Stiles with Frank and Isaac. Stiles is not even sure why Isaac is there, but he’ll take what he can. He’s a better company than Derek or Luke lately anyway.

“You know, this whole thing kind of feels unfair. How come everyone gets the cool stuffs but children of Athena is only good at thinking? There’s a severe unbalance in that logic.”

“I would not go against a child of Athena in a fight,” Franks says seriously.

Stiles tries not to be flattered with that statement, but Frank looks so honest that he has no choice but to lean against Isaac.

“I’m swooning. Isaac, catch me.” Isaac ignores him and wolfs down his waffles like a starving man.

“I’m serious,” Frank says, amused despite his effort. “I know how it feels to be insecure with your gifts, but literally everyone is too afraid to go against the Athena cabin. Travis and Connor once put a spider in there, and they never look at Annabeth the same way again.”

“Annabeth, Percy’s girlfriend,” Stiles says.

“What? No!” Frank looks alarmed. “Oh gods, Hera messed you up too but for forgot to fix your memory.”

Stiles straightens. “What do you mean?”

Frank scowls down at his cup. His hand inches towards the sugar cubes before he retracts it. “She messed with everyone’s memory. She made Piper believe she was in a relationship with Jason even when Jason did not know her. She also made everyone at Camp Half-Blood think Annabeth and Percy had been in a relationship since the Titan War. Zeus was going to make Jason take responsibility for—“ Frank stops abruptly.

“For what?” Stiles presses.

“It’s not my place to say,” Frank says, with finality.

“Hera is…” Isaac starts.

“The Queen of Olympus, aka, bitch extraordinaire,” Stiles says.

Frank nervously looks up. “She’s under lockdown right now, but it’s not wise to incur her wrath.”

“Under lockdown?” Stiles asks. The Queen of Olympus, under lockdown?

“She went against Zeus’s orders and made plans on her own to go against Gaea. She ensured our victory, but Zeus is still wrathful towards her.”

“And this, puppy,” Stiles says to Isaac sagely, “is why Zeus is also a hypocritical bastard. They’re a match made in literal heaven.”

Frank is looking at Stiles in horror. “What is wrong with you? You just insulted the king and queen of gods! Nobody does that!”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m a nobody.” Stiles smiles, all teeth. Frank is turning alarmingly pale.

“Are you sure you’re a son of Athena?”

“Pretty sure, since she lived with me until I’m eleven before leaving by pretending to be dead. I found out I’m a demigod only a few months ago.”

“Don’t I know it,” Frank murmurs grudgingly. “I also found out I’m a demigod a few months ago. When Mars claimed me, he embarrassed me in front of the whole camp by pretentiously ordering a quest to be led by me, even though it should have been Percy. He’s that kind of dad that brags in front of other kids about his son. Everyone was talking after that. ‘Oh look at that kid, glory all because his father orders it.’”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I don’t even know,” Frank shrugs. Then, he looks at Stiles. “You said Athena lived with you until you were eleven. No god has ever done that before.”

Stiles studies his tumbler. “Everyone keeps saying that. Is it that special?”

“Annabeth ran away from home when she was seven,” Frank says. “I’ve met my father only twice, when he claimed me in front of everyone and once during the last fight. Reyna never met her mother. There’s only one demigod I know who is in regular contact with their godly parent is, but that’s because Dionysus is punished to stay at Camp Half-Blood as the director for a century. Nobody is ever that lucky.”

Stiles feels wretched. All this time he’d been bitching about having no superpower, his fellow demigods have it worse. Stiles has been living in Beacon Hills in absolute ignorance with his mother while other children of the gods are training to kill and avoid monsters while missing their parents. What does that make him?

If what Frank (Deaton, Luke) said is true, then for what reason Athena stayed?

The question stays with Stiles even after Frank left via air, dragon style with a promise to keep in touch. He gave Stiles a few golden coins and showed him how to send an IM, demigod style. Stiles can get used to this. He and Isaac run to Derek’s apartment and he finds Luke in the living room with Lydia, Jackson, Erica and Boyd scatter around him.

He flops down beside Luke.  “Where’s Derek?”

“In the kitchen. Where's Frank?” Erica asks.

“He went back. One of you needs to call Deaton about his barrier. It might be failing again.”

“What did you find out?” Luke asks.

Stiles lets out a whoosh of breath and resolutely looks ahead. “First of all, you need to know that Percy and Annabeth are not dating. Hera, the bitch she is, put false memories into everyone’s heads. She also did it to another couple.”

Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment. Stiles turns his head, studies Luke’s face. It does not betray anything. “Why would she do that?”

“Frank wasn’t very forthcoming about that. Also, Hera’s under house arrest because she disobeyed Zeus. Nobody knows when the king’s going to release her, but let’s take what we can and bitch about her as much as we can.”

“You are such a precious.”

Stiles flutters his eyelashes and leans against Luke. Of course, Derek walks in then and his eyes settle on Stiles and Luke.

Stiles doesn’t know what his face means. It's a myriad of reactions, but the prominent one is the one he puts on at last. Nothing. He tears his gaze away and looks at the betas. “Scott called me. Deaton said to come to the clinic.”

Stiles gets up and sighs exaggeratingly. “What is it this time?”

“An unconscious demigod.”

“Must be Tuesday,” Boyd mutters, and Stiles bumps his hip with the guy’s for that, because Boyd’s awesome without even trying. The beta gives him an exasperated look.

Derek, Lydia (she’s can’t believe she missed Frank the shape-shifter), Erica and of course, Stiles head over to Deaton’s. Boyd, Luke, Jackson and Isaac decide to smash zombies (meaning Luke stays back and the betas fight it out for the consoles). When they step out of the Camaro and jeep, Erica and Derek stop walking and draw in a sharp breathe.

“What is it?” Lydia asks.

Erica opens her eyes, revealing them in golden color, which, _okay_? “I feel like I’m standing on a beach.”

“There’s a strong scent of saltwater,” Derek clarifies.

Stiles looks at the door, a bad feeling settles on his chest. The door opens then and Allison’s dark head appears. “Come on in.”

They follow Allison to where Luke was put months ago. The bad feeling on Stiles’s chest moves to his guts. Allison walks like she’s on her way to a funeral. Her shoulders are so tense it makes Stiles want to reach out and tell her to sit down.

“What is it?” He asks.

Allison doesn’t say anything. When they’re standing in front of the door, she turns and Stiles can finally see her eyes clearly from this distance. She looks scared. She opens the door, and Stiles is confused by what he sees.

There’s a guy on the bed, unconscious like Derek said and there are gashes all over his naked torso. Deaton’s standing away, glaring at a man beside the bed. The last thing makes Stiles stop.

He…he was _unbelievably_ good looking. Like, Chris Evans, Zac Efron and Angelina Jolie all rolled into one person to make a man so beautiful he catches everyone’s breath in the room. He doesn’t even have time to be jealous that even Derek has stopped to look at the guy. The guy’s wearing a white shirt and pants. Stiles can see his bare foot. His dark hair is pulled into a high pony tail and he has eyes of green so rich Stiles wants to make a sonnet about them. A horrible sonnet, but one nonetheless.

“Who are they?” The man asks. He’s glaring at them suspiciously.

Deaton looks at Stiles and nods his head imperceptibly. What? _What_? What does that mean? Is that a code? Do they even _have_ a code? “They’re on your side.”

“My side?” The man scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “Nobody’s ever on my side. Nobody was there when that bastard took me prisoner and made me immortal against my will. Nobody’s on my side.”

Lydia steps forward. Any other day, Stiles would have admired her for that and be right there behind her, but he’s stuck on his place. For all his bravado insulting Zeus and Hera, he’s not so stupid he would go up against a _real god_. Or whatever this immortal dude says he is.

“Are you Ganymede?” Lydia asks.

The guy turns his sonnet-worthy eyes to Lydia. “You dare talk to me rudely, mortal?”

“You are,” Lydia says, smug. “Who is this?” She looks at the unconscious demigod.

Ganymede ( _Zeus’s immortal lover_ , Stiles’s mind screams at him hysterically, _a former mortal so hot he turns Zeus, the mighty king of the gods, **gay**_ ) shifts. Stiles could almost swear he looks guilty, despite his stony face. “I didn’t mean for him to be hurt.”

“He will heal,” Deaton says. He’s—tight, tense. He’s angry, Stiles realizes, but he’s holding himself back. Something’s wrong.

Ganymede scowls and moves to stand in the middle of the room. “Do not be angry with me. If you hadn’t notified Apollo, I wouldn’t have taken that boy.”

Stiles’s bad feeling finally makes sense. And it expands, all throughout his body and mind like a multiplying plague. “Where’s Scott?”

“Somewhere safe,” Ganymede answers, like he hadn’t just directly implied he has Stiles’s _best friend_ in captive. He points at Deaton. “You will tell your father nothing about us being here.”

“You forget who my father is,” Deaton says in a clipped tone.

“Well, I guess…” Ganymede looks at Allison. “That boy will stay safe.”

Allison sobs and that was it. Stiles lurches.

“Give my best friend back!” He screams to the immortal’s face, fisting a handful of his white shirt.

Ganymede’s handsome face morphs into something ugly, and Stiles wants to punch it so hard blood will not stop leaking out for months. “Let go of me.”

In response, Stiles pulls back to punch the bastard in the face for real this time. He never got there. Derek catches his wrist and pulls him away from Ganymede, like _Stiles’s_ the wrong one here, even though the real villain’s just right _there_. “Hitting him won’t solve anything.”

 _Ha!_ That’s fucking hilarious. Since when does Derek Hale know about anything diplomatic?

“Stiles,” Derek growls threateningly. Stiles whirls around and shoves Derek. When he turns back to Ganymede, the bastard looks smug as hell.

“If you hurt him, I will find a way to get back at you,” he says, the words like a vow, and Ganymede barks a laugh.

“I will not hurt your friend. Don’t worry. All I need is a safe sanctuary for a moment. I heard this place is as safe as it can get.”

Stiles wants to stab him in the eye with a pen. See if it’ll still be pretty when blood’s gushing out. “Who did you piss off?”

Ganymede waves a hand and a chair appears out of thin air. He sits down and crosses his arms and legs. “Zeus, the almighty bastard. Now that Hera’s under lockdown, he’s getting unbearable. He’s ignored me for several decades. However, since a year ago, he’s been coming to my palace more and more often.”

“Are you seriously running away because you can’t handle sex with the king of the gods?” Erica taunts.

“You don’t know a thing!” Ganymede’s eyes flare with hatred. “I didn’t ask for his attention. I didn’t ask to live forever. And I certainly did not ask to do so as his lover. Enough is enough. I will have my freedom.” He looks at the demigod on the bed, as if the boy holds everything Ganymede needs to achieve his goal.

Ganymede kicks them out after that. He closes the door in Deaton’s face after giving the son of Apollo one last instruction.

“If you tell your father, remember what will happen to _Scott_.”

Deaton looks like a wounded tiger after that. He ushers them to the door and insists that under no circumstances must they tell Luke.

“You won’t be able to fool the other werewolves, but Luke most not be told. Not until the right moment.”

“I’ll call Mrs. McCall later tonight.” Stiles won’t tell her the truth, of course. “Keep a close eye on our guy.”

* * *

The next morning, Stiles wakes up, sits in his bed, and wonders if yesterday had been just a very weird dream. When Derek texts him to tell him to go to school, Stiles decides, _fuck it_. He’s seventeen and a demigod. He’s allowed to be rebellious once in a while. So he puts on clothes and drives to Deaton’s clinic.

Deaton looks he went to hell and back.

“Dude,” Stiles says. The vet glares.

Deaton leaves the door open and Stiles scrambles in. He makes a beeline towards Ganymede’s room (because the bastard may be immortal, but he’s got no ichor in him like Stiles does) to annoy the guy into releasing Scott.

Scott is sitting next to Ganymede, looking like everything’s right with his world when yesterday Stiles literally almost punched an immortal in the face for him.

Stiles’s head hurt.

“What—how— _Scott_!”

Scott turns his puppy eyes to Stiles and—Stiles just fucking melts like ice-cream in the desert. His best friend is okay. His brother is right across the room and he’s _alive_.

“I’ve decided he’s too much of a delightful company to keep in the closet,” Ganymede says, sipping tea like he’s the Queen of England. Stiles wants to strangle the bastard at the leer he’s not-so-secretly making at Scott’s body and for the fucking pun.

Stiles’s mind short-circuited at the sight as it dawned onto him that his best friend’s got a fucking immortal to notice him. What even.

“You are a son of Athena, aren’t you?” Ganymede asks.

Stiles crosses his arms and glares.

“I thought so. You have the same intense look. My advice: don’t let go of that man.”

Stiles ignores the advice (he never takes one anyway, it comes with being ADHD) and points at the still body on the bed. “Are you going to tell us who you kidnapped?”

“Son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson.”

* * *

It had been a good morning; the sun was shining, no werewolves in sight, no Harris. It had been good. Even though his best friend had been kidnapped by a kidnapped man himself and there might be a bisexual god of the sky screaming thunder about his lost boy toy and coming down onto them to squash them like bugs under his mighty boots.

It had been a good morning.

“He’s the perfect leverage against Zeus and Poseidon. Hermes and Hades may be swayed as well. Jackson doesn’t know it, but he’s got pretty powerful friends up high.”

“What do you need him for?” Stiles asks, throat dry.

“My freedom.” Ganymede’s green eyes glow under the sunlight. He looks unreal, but Stiles knows he’s as solid as gold. “Zeus will not deny me this. He cannot.”

Stiles is so relieved he’d followed Deaton’s orders.

Luke would have rained down hell and inferno on Ganymede if he’d found out. That would have make the situation about ten thousand times worse. Scott would never have been released. Ganymede might decide to even kill him for the heck of it.

This is such a fucking _mess_.

What are the chances of Percy Jackson ending up in the one place he should not be? Pretty big, as it turns out. With Frank yesterday, Stiles is not willing to discount anything. There’s something at work here. Something bigger than coincidence.

But—knowing the guy’s the one Luke’s been pining after for months, he knows there’s no way he’ll let Ganymede have Percy any longer. Not on his watch.

He needs a plan.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ganymede says, his eyes flaring with green fire. “Son of Athena you may be, I will not let you get in my way.”

“What?” Stiles puts on his honest face. “I wasn’t thinking about anything!”

“Lies,” Ganymede snarls. “A child of Athena never stops thinking.”

Well, not really. Sometimes Stiles just believe and let the magic do their thing.

Which is exactly what he’s doing right now.

It happens without any warning, just like every time Stiles pulls his spark and does something magical. The teacup falls from Ganymede’s hand to the floor and shatter into dozens of tiny pieces. Ganymede cries out as he’s slammed to the wall. True to his name as Stiles’s best friend, Scott moves and stands beside Stiles.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “Get Percy and start the car. Howl when you’re ready to go.”

Scott rarely questions Stiles when he’s serious about something. So when Stiles throws him the key, he catches and slips it to his pocket before hauling Percy over his shoulder, blanket and all (thank the gods for his lycanthropic strength). As Scott’s footsteps disappear, Stiles approaches Ganymede.

“You made the worst mistake of coming here.”

Ganymede’s disguise falls away, revealing a youthful face with flushed cheeks, caramel colored curls and turquoise eyes. Stiles can’t pin down his physical age. His face is softer, younger, but he looks as handsome as ever.

“Myths said that you were quite happy to be Zeus’s cupbearer.”

“Lies!” Ganymede says. “My father was a fool! Zeus took me against my will.”

“No matter,” Stiles says. “You don’t have any actual powers, do you?”

Ganymede’s rosy cheeks turn an even darker shade of red. “I will destroy you!”

“Not if I kill you first.”

A true flash of fear appears on Ganymede’s face. Stiles takes pleasure in that as he slowly backs away, hearing Scott’s low howl from outside. He’s not sure how long his willpower will be able to hold Ganymede, but he can probably at least call Luke and wait for the son of Hermes before Ganymede catches up.

“But I will not.”

He runs outside and sends a quick prayer to Hermes as he enters the shotgun. If there’s one god who has the power and motive to help them now, it would be him. “Go!”

Scott obeys and in no time they are on the main road. “Where are we going?” he asks.

“The lake.”

Stiles is ashamed to admit he jumped and squealed when Deaton spoke up. He turns around and sees the son of Apollo steadying Percy. “When did you get there?”

Deaton gives him a flat look. “I was waiting outside for Scott. I know this would happen.”

There’s more to that than what Deaton said, but Stiles does not press. Instead, he studies the son of Poseidon. He’s pale, bundled up in a blanket like a burrito and though the gashes have healed overnight, there are still pale stretch marks. Stiles finally understands why Erica and Derek reacted like they did. Even without the super werewolfy senses, Stiles can smell the saltwater on Percy just fine, even though the guy probably hasn’t bath in 24 hours.

He also looks like a Greek god. (Or a Roman god. Depends on who you’re asking.)

No wonder Luke pines endlessly. The guy looks like a not-so-mythical god brought to flesh, breathing and all.

 _Son of Poseidon_ suddenly doesn’t sound like a title at all. It’s a fucking icon. Like Beyonce. Or Madonna.

 “We don’t know what Ganymede will do,” Deaton says. “Best we get him to his father or brother. I already sent word to my father.”

Stiles fishes out his phone and dials Luke’s number. He waits until the third ring before Luke picks up. “Stiles?”

“I have Percy Jackson with me and there’s an immortal by the name of oh, guess who? Ganymede! after us. Go to the lake. We’ll meet you there.”

He ends the call. There’s no need to tempt the Fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm a filthy, filthy liar. I swear I really meant for this to be only two chapters though. This was really painful for me to write. There's a reason why Frankie was there. Not really relevant to the plot though.


End file.
